


To See Me Through All My Sins

by Ambular-D (AmberDiceless)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby Singer's Panic Room, Gen, Singer Salvage Yard (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberDiceless/pseuds/Ambular-D
Summary: Sam, Dean and Jack visit a long-forgotten place, and come away with some lost and badly-needed things.





	To See Me Through All My Sins

**Author's Note:**

> Set early in Season 13, before Cas returned from the Empty.

"Jody. What's the word?" Dean put his phone down on the kitchen table and set it to speaker. Sam called a subdued greeting from across the table. Jack looked up from his breakfast with an inquisitive headtilt, but he'd already learned to hold questions until after a phone call was over.

"Uh...hi, Dean. Everything okay?" Trust Jody to pick up immediately on the fact that everything wasn't. Not even close.

"No," he said bluntly. "I'll tell you all about it, just not...not now." Not this soon. Everyone was still reeling from the events of the past few days. Even Chippy the Devil-Child was acting withdrawn and weighted down, which made sense, he guessed.

Just over four days old, and he was already trying to off himself so he wouldn't accidentally put the whammy on anyone else.

Welcome to the world, kid.

"But we're here," he added. "Whatcha need? You and Alex doing all right?"

"Okay...well, you've got my number if you need anything. We're fine, I just, ah...well, I'm sorry if this is a bad time. It can wait, if you want. But, I got to thinking the other day. I've been keeping an eye on Bobby's place--you know, patrolling around the salvage yard now and then, just to be safe."

"Well, that's probably not a bad idea." Dean rubbed his forehead, frowning slightly. No, truth be told, he'd really rather not think about Bobby or what was left of his house right now. But Jody was family, she'd been nothing but good to them, and she wouldn't be bringing this up if she didn't think it was important. "He was in the business a long time. There's no telling what might come looking for him, not knowing he's gone. Something freaky going on out there?"

"That's pretty much what I was thinking. No, not really. The place hasn't changed at all, except to gather more dust. 

"That's actually what prompted me to check...Bobby registered a transfer-on-death deed for the property some years ago, Dean. He left the place to you, or to Sam if you predeceased him. Which, is a little problematic considering your legal status..."

"Yeah, okay," Dean glanced up at Sam, who shrugged slightly, not sure what Jody was getting at either. "I mean, we can get the legalities sorted out, sure. Is it causing a problem, the place just sitting there? I haven't had the heart to go back since the fire, tell you the truth." Except to meet Crowley the once, but he hadn't gone near the rubble of the house itself. The sight of it, and the memories that went with it, just hurt too much.

"No," Jody said slowly, "but I'm wondering whether you and Sam have thought about making your own arrangements, in case...well, God forbid anything happened to you boys. But if something did, have you taken any steps to see that the property's passed on to someone who's in the know?"

"She's got a point," Sam noted. "Officially, I think we're either dead or classified as terrorists, depending on who you ask. Even if you get your claim to the place to stick, the minute we buy it, ownership reverts to the state and the property'll probably be sold off."

"...to a civilian. Great." Dean sighed. "So, what, we need to draw up wills or something? Can a couple of dead terrorists even do that?"

"Well, that's what we need to figure out. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm sure next time you make it out here we can gimmick up some paperwork so the property stays in safe hands. In the meantime, though...is there anything out there that could've survived the fire that could be dangerous? Legal issues aside, Halloween's coming up, and the place is starting to get a creepy reputation, sitting empty all this time. Some idiot's been spreading rumors about a wood chipper massacre or something that happened out that way, and you know how kids are. I'd hate to see any sneak in and get themselves hurt."

"Wouldn't Bobby have cleared out anything important that was left?" Sam asked.

"When would he have gotten a chance?" Dean shook his head. "We were all on the run, and chompers were watching the place. I dunno, though, from what I remember there wasn't much left but cinder blocks and ashes. The cars and garages should be fine, he never kept any of his books and stuff out there. It was all in the house, or right near it."

"You sure?" Jody asked. "I know for a fact he had some hairy things buried out back, and crazy stuff going on in the basement."

"Buried..." Sam said, at the same moment that Dean repeated, "Basement," and they exchanged wide-eyed looks.

"Jody, you guys mind some company for dinner tonight?"

\---

Jack, who had been silently absorbing all of this and followed along to the car without question, finally asked from the back seat once they were on the road, "Who's Bobby?"

Dean rolled his eyes, not sure how to cram most of a lifetime's worth of answer into the few terse words he was willing to spare for the kid. It was Sam who did answer, but Dean was sorry the moment his brother opened his mouth that he hadn't spoken up after all.

"Well, Jack, you know how we told you Lucifer's the one who...uh, brought you into being? But you said you chose Castiel to be your father. Because you knew he cared about you, and he'd protect you."

"Yes," Jack said quietly.

"Well, Dean and me, our father--our biological father--his name was John. He loved us, and raised us," and holy _crap_ was that an oversimplification that came with about a million qualifiers, but it was enough for the sake of this discussion, "but he died years ago. After he was gone, Bobby sort of stepped in and became like another father to us. He wasn't a blood relative, but he was still family."

Jack frowned thoughtfully, processing that. "But he died, too?"

"Yeah. He died," Dean growled over his shoulder. "And you know who had a hand in that?"

"Dean," Sam said warningly, but Dean carried on anyway. "Cas, that's who."

"But--well, yeah. But he didn't mean to, and he did everything he could to make up for it, and we forgave him for that a long long time ago. _Right?"_ Sam said sharply.

Dean sighed, and his voice softened a bit. "...yeah. He was just trying to do what he thought was right, like he always did. Cas was one of the good guys. But he bit off more than he could chew, and something got away from him, and it did a hell of a lot of damage--stuff that could never be fixed." He shook his head. "And we did forgive him, but I don't think he ever forgave himself.

"It's not just Cas, it's happened to Sam and me too," he added, thinking of the angel back at the police station. Just another winged psychopath, as far as he was concerned, but she wasn't completely wrong in her assessment of him. _You take things, and break things, and piss people off, and just do whatever you want, no matter who it hurts._

Of course it'd look like that, from her perspective. Just because everyone was the hero in their own story, didn't mean they weren't the villain in someone else's.

"You can have the best intentions in the world, but once you get your hands on some real power, all you gotta do is make one mistake...miscalculate by just a little bit, let your guard down for one second, and all hell breaks loose. And then, if you live, you have to live _with_ what you did--who you hurt--for the rest of your lfe."

Jack didn't say anything for some time. "So John died, and then Bobby died, and his house burned down," he said finally. "And now Castiel and your mother, and...Crowley?" Whom no one had told him anything about, but clearly he'd picked up from Dean's words at the funeral pyre that it was someone of significance. "I'm sorry. That...must be really hard.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," he added, so low they had to strain to hear. "I want to be...'one of the good guys,' too. I'm trying."

Sam shot Dean a _Now look what you did_ look. "We know, Jack. Just...keep trying, okay? Don't do anything without thinking about the consequences first. That's really all you can do. We'll help, as much as we can."

 _For all the good it'll do,_ Dean thought, and turned on the radio. And then couldn't decide which would be more awkward--leaving it on the tune the classic rock station had playing, or promptly shutting it off again.

In the end, though, he let it play. It'd move on to something else soon enough, and if they had to babysit Lucifer's hellspawn then they might just as well expose him to a little goddamn culture along the way.

_On and on  
Does anybody know what we are living for?_

\---

Picking his way carefully past charred remains of some items he could identify--a book, a chair, part of a large desk--Jack paused and bent to pick up an object whose identity wasn't immediately obvious. Turning it over in his hands and brushing some of the soot off, he studied it for a few moments, then nodded. It had been a light fixture of some sort-- a sconce that had hung on the wall, parts of which were still standing nearby, still showing odd glimpses here and there of faded, weather-stained red and gold wallpaper.

"You okay, Jack?" Sam asked him, stepping over another pile of rubble to work his way over to him.

"Yes," he said, still turning the sconce over and frowning at it thoughtfully. "It's just...sad." He set the fixture carefully down where it had been and straightening up to survey the ruined den. "Someone used to live here, and now..."

"Yeah." Sam nodded somberly, following his gaze, his mind filling in the broken lines and coloring the washed-out blacks and grays with years of warm, treasured memories. "Now they don't."

"You guys gonna help me over here or what?" Dean called gruffly, from below and in the direction of what had once been the kitchen.

"Careful. Floor's rotting, where it didn't burn." Sam gestured for Jack to follow him, and they cautiously made their way to where Dean was working to clear debris from what was left of the basement staircase.

It took the three of them some time, a lot of minor scrapes, some disturbed raccoons, and a few near-falls through to the concrete below, to find and clear what they were looking for. The Leviathan arsonists had been pretty thorough in destroying everything above ground, but they hadn't bothered to come down and search the basement first.

"'Premiere Steel Company, 1927?'" Jack read, looking up at Sam as they stood back, surveying the great iron door.

"Yeah. The door came from a furnace--a really big one," Sam explained. "God knows where Bobby found it. But it was perfect for what he wanted to do."

"Built a Panic Room on his weekend off," Dean murmured, shaking his head and, for the first time since Jack had met him, smiling just a little bit, just for a moment. "That was Bobby for you. If there was anything the guy couldn't build, or fix, give him a couple of days and a phone and he'd figure out how to do it, somehow."

"Panic Room." Jack nodded slowly. "Where you'd come when you were afraid. To feel safe."

As the Winchesters exchanged uneasy looks--the kid was the weirdest, most unsettling mix of ignorance and insight either of them had ever seen--he tilted his head curiously to one side, and reached out to touch the door near the heavy slide-latch that held it shut.

"Castiel was here," he said suddenly, turning back to them excitedly. "Wasn't he? I can feel his power here, on the door--just a little."

_Not for nothing, Cas, but the last person who looked at me like that, I got laid..._

"Yeah, he was," Dean said brusquely, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and moving up to yank at the latch once Jack stepped out of his way. It wouldn't budge, sealed shut by heat or rust or grime.

"Did something bad happen to him?" Jack frowned.

It took Dean a minute to remember, and then he blinked and dropped his eyes. "Oh. Well, yeah, I guess something did. I, ah...I banished him out of here one time. I guess that's about as much fun as a jalapeño facial." He paused, and added a bit sheepishly, "He beat the crap out of me for that one, for what it's worth."

"For that, among other things," Sam amended, ignoring the glare that earned him. "They got past it, though. Cas forgave him."

"Because that's what good guys do," Jack said tentatively.

"You gain wisdom, grasshopper." Dean turned his attention back to the latch. They finally had to dig a sledgehammer out of the wreckage and whack it open by force.

After a few minutes' concerted pulling, the door swung reluctantly open with a godawful screech and a _whoosh_ of stale, musty air.

Jack wrinkled his nose. "Smells funny..."

"Whiskey and Old Spice," Sam murmured, mostly to himself.

He started forward, but Dean put a hand out and stopped him, nodding at Jack, who was already moving to enter the room. It took Sam a minute to catch his drift, and he paused as well, watching...

Watching the nephilim walk right past the angel-proofing sigils that covered the walls as though they weren't even there. Dean shook his head and followed, with Sam half a step behind.

With the power long gone and the overhead vent blocked by accumulated leaves and yard debris, they had to resort to flashlights, catching eerie glimpses of the room's contents, still sitting exactly where Bobby had left them. Chairs, cot, weapons rack, the big Devil's Trap on the floor; the desk, the transister radio...

Dean's flashlight beam caught a glimpse of a shapely figure as it slid across the salt-encrusted wall, and he swung it back, barking a short laugh. "Son of a bitch," he said. "Bo made it." The poster was discolored and curling a bit at the edges from the heat of the long-ago fire, but still, essentially, intact.

"Seriously?" Sam shook his head with a subdued chuckle. "Guess now we know why he kept her down here..." He moved further into the room, touching a few familiar items as he passed, and then bending to check out the contents of a couple of milk crates shoved off to one side.

Dean went to the desk and began to rummage through the drawers. Jack wandered about, stopping to examine one object after another, then turning his attention to the inscriptions on the walls.

"What do these mean?"

Sam glanced up and answered, "Those are to keep angels out. The ones on the floor are a trap for demons, and the salt and iron help keep them and other spirits away."

Jack frowned. "So Castiel was here...but you didn't want him to come inside."

Dean stopped what he was doing and heaved an exasperated sigh. "Well, not always. It's complicated, okay? And there were--are--a lot of other angels besides just him." He shut one drawer and opened another, flipping through the folders it contained. "Most of 'em aren't big fans of ours, like you saw at the jail."

He started to add something else, then stopped, pulling a folder out of the drawer for a closer look.

Oh. _Oh...what the hell, Bobby? Why didn’t you give us these years ago?_

Maybe it’d slipped the old man’s mind. Or maybe he was waiting until they had places of their own to keep them...or until they really, really needed them.

"You find anything, Sammy?"

"Few things," Sam said, straightening up with a handful of books held carefully under one arm. "You?"

"Yeah." Dean closed the folder and tucked it inside his jacket, glancing around. "Think I found what I was looking for. I haven't seen anything Jody should be worried about, have you?"

"You were looking for something in particular?...no." Sam shook his head. "No, I think the place is pretty much clean. We should probably sweep the area with the EMF meter, and look into getting the wreckage cleared out one of these days, and the paperwork dealt with, but, I doubt anything’s lurking that's gonna get out and hurt anybody."

"All right, well, let's do that and then jet. Jody's gonna be wondering where the hell we are. C'mon, sport. ...Oh, but hang on just a minute." Dean walked over, carefully detached Bo Derek from the wall, and rolled the poster up. "You're coming home with us, lady."

After Sam and Jack preceded him out, he paused to sweep his flashlight around the interior of the small space one last time before he stepped through, shutting and bolting the door behind him.

Maybe he'd come back here again sometime; maybe he wouldn't. But it was good, somehow, to know that the place was still here...still a tiny, safe haven from the things that went bump.

\---

"Okay, Dean..." Outside the Gas 'n' Sip downtown, Sam raised his hands, freshly-scrubbed in contrast to the rest of his still soot-covered self. Jack mimicked the gesture. "Clean and sparkly. Now spill it, what'd you find?"

Wordlessly, Dean opened the folder he'd retrieved from the Panic Room, took out a sheet of slightly discolored photographic prints, and handed it over.

Sam took the photos with a puzzled frown that quickly gave way to a wide-eyed stare of disbelief when he recognized the image. "Oh. He...he must've kept the negative..."

Jack crowded up next to him to peer at the pictures. "That's you and Dean. But younger. Who are the others?"

Sam had to swallow hard a couple of times before he could answer. "Um. That...that's Bobby," he said, pointing at the image of the man seated in a wheelchair. "And those ladies are Jo and Ellen Harvelle. They were hunters, like us. Really good friends...family. We lost them the day after this picture was taken. And...and that..."

He stopped, cleared his throat, and shot Dean a slightly pleading look.

"That's Cas," Dean said gruffly, staring down one of the copies of the same sheet he still held. "Think this might be the only picture any of us ever took of him."

"Oh," Jack said, eyes wide. "Can I...?" Sam nodded and handed him the sheet.

"He's smiling. Almost," the young man said, tracing the figure in the picture reverently with his fingertips. "He looks happy."

"You can’t really tell from the picture, but, we all were," Sam told him, smiling sadly at the memory. "That was a good night."

Jack smiled back. "So there were some good times. Not just fighting all the time and people always dying?"

Sam raised his eyebrows bemusedly. "Well, yeah. Of course there were."

"Sure. Well, I mean we never went and partied down in Cancún," Dean gave a wry half-shrug, "but, between catastrophes, yeah. There...there were moments."

"I'm glad," Jack said. "I was starting to wonder."

Sam glanced at Dean, and his smile widened. "You remember the time we walked in the bar and found him playing FBI agent? How proud he was to finally be a real hunter?"

Hard as he tried, Dean couldn't help but smile at that memory. "Yeah. Or when he insisted there had to be popcorn when we watched the exorcism footage. 'It's customary, correct?' He chuckled, and if there was a raw, painful edge to it, it still worked a startling change in his demeanor that made Jack blink as though he was seeing someone else entirely. "And that time he up and planted one on Meg like they were shooting _The Demoness Does Dallas._ 'I learned that from the pizza man.'"

"Or the solidarity sandwich,” Sam said. “Jack, Castiel wasn't just this guy we knew. Him and me, we kind of got off on the wrong foot..."

Jack looked down at Sam’s feet.

"Nono, I mean we didn't get along too well at first. When we first met him, he was this scary uber-powerful being we'd thought didn't exist, who rescued Dean from Hell, and we didn't even know why. We weren't sure whether he was on our side or not. But he turned out to be one of the best friends we ever had." 

_"The_ best," Dean corrected. "Don't let me bitching about the bad stuff that went down give you the wrong idea. We've all gone over to the dark side a time or two, and we just took turns doing whatever it took to pull each other back. Cas was our brother, okay. End of story."

Jack stared at the photo as they spoke, and then he looked up at Sam, then Dean. "But if I go to the 'dark side,' you won't pull me back."

A dead silence fell. 

"Did Dean tell you that?" Sam said finally, with that deliberate way of articulating the words that said he was pissed, and determined to keep a lid on it. "Jack, I don't think that's gonna happen. I really don't. But if it did, I promise, we'd do everything we could to try to help you first. We don't hurt people if we don't have to."

Dean looked away from them, down at the photo in his hands. At his friend, who'd loved this kid enough to die for him before he was even born.

Lucifer's son...who decided sometime in all this mess that the people who might or might not be out to kill him were friends, and put the smackdown on a demon prince for hurting them.

_I'll hold them off. I'll hold them all off!_

_Now put these boys back together and go. I won't ask twice._

_You’re my family. I love you. I love all of you._

_I do everything that you ask. I always come when you call, and I am your friend. Still, despite your lack of faith in me..._

_Stand behind me, the one time I ask._

"All right, I'll tell you what," he said, closing the folder and meeting the boy's gaze. "If it comes down to you or the world, we might not have a choice. I'm not gonna sugar-coat that. But your, uh...your father," and that still just weirded him out no end, but this wasn't about him, "put his life on the line, and died for us, so many times I've about lost count. And he almost never asked us for anything, except that we be his friends, and that we show him a little of the same faith that he had in us.

"He had faith in you, too. And I still don't know if he was right, but I owe it to him to give you a chance. So if the crap does hit the fan, as long as I can see anything--I mean anything, even a _hint,_ a flicker, that you, Jack, are still in there, and that you _want_ to be saved? If a way exists to stop you without hurting you, I will find it. Or I'll die trying. Okay?"

Jack held his gaze steadily for a moment, and then nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

"I understand. Thank you. That’s all I can ask. I’ll--I’ll try not to let you, or him, down.

“May I keep this?" he asked, holding up the picture.

"Not that one." Dean said, gesturing for the picture back. "There's some smaller prints here. Soon as I can find a pair of scissors, I'll give you one you can carry in your wallet."

Jack handed the picture back. "I don't have a wallet."

"All right, well, we'll pick one up for you first chance we get." Dean gave Sam a questioning look. _We good?_ And got a slightly hesitant nod in response. "All right then, boys, let's hit the road. Jody's for sure gonna make us all shower before she feeds us, and I'd like to eat before midnight."

As they pulled out of the gas station parking lot, he asked Sam, "I ever tell you about the time I took Cas to a brothel?"

 _"What?!_ Dean!" Sam couldn't quite stifle a laugh, but rolled his eyes meaningfully in the direction of the back seat.

"Hey, if he's old enough for beer, he's old enough to hear this."

"What's a brothel?"

Smiling still didn't come easy. But at least Dean knew now that he hadn't actually forgotten how, and it took a little bit less effort once he turned on the radio and tuned into the local oldies station.

"Well, that's more like it..."

_That one last shot's a permanent vacation_  
_And how high can you fly with broken wings?_  
_Life's a journey, not a destination_  
_And I just can't tell just what tomorrow brings._

"No porn, Dean. Jesus. Why don't you tell him about Mrs. Tate and the pastry mishap?"

"Oh god, yeah. You know I never did remember to ask whether he got the cat to talk..."

_And I'm saying a prayer for the desperate hearts tonight._


End file.
